The Stories of the Wild One (continued)

Exiting the main lobby, he cut through a wide floor of identical cubicles before coming to that corridor that ran along the internal perimeter of the building. Garage 3 was on the far south side of the complex, but it was favored by many of the employees because it provided easier access to the freeway when they left for the evening. There was a more direct route, a narrow concrete path that lead from the rear of the lobby to the rear of the parking garage. Taking it, though, would have required that he travel outside through the expansive inner courtyard. As the temperature had now dropped to thirty-eight degrees, he was more than willing to spend the few extra minutes.

If they’re stupid enough to lock themselves in their own car, he considered with increasing irritation, then they can wait a few more minutes.

He took the stairs down to the garage level, rather than waiting for the elevator. By default, they all homed to the fourth floor when not in use. He had been told that it was a security design, to make it more difficult for anyone who had managed to breach the first floor to get to the upper levels. The real reason, Jonathon suspected, was that the overpaid muckety-mucks who had offices up there hated to wait for elevators.

Unholstering his flashlight almost automatically, he opened the door that led into the parking garage. He paused there, gasping for an instant as a blast of cold air greeted him. The garage level, while somewhat sheltered from the weather, was not heated. Large ventilation fans filled alcoves at wide intervals along the concrete walls, but they provided nothing in the way of warmth in this kind of weather.

He aimed the beam of his flashlight across the broad, low-ceilinged space. Although the garage was illuminated, even at night, its lighting placement left wide swathes of deep shadows. Filling those pockets of darkness with light made the space feel just less claustrophobic. When traveling through the parking garages at night, he always felt as if their ceilings were closing in on him. It did not help that the rough, cement-covered were within easy touch if he stretched his arm upward.

Four cars were immediately visible, each parked at seemingly random distances from one another. Blinking in an attempt to adjust his eyes to dim lighting, Jonathon searched out the light-colored one he had seen on the monitor.

There.

He spied it parked next to one of the large concrete pillars. Seeing it, he was surprised to see that it was an older Japanese import. He had expected it to be one of those new European models—the kind that he could not imagine ever being able to afford on his salary, no matter how hard he saved for it.

Moving toward it, he played his flashlight beam into the gap between the vehicle and the post.

Just to be safe, he silently reminded himself.

The space was empty, showing nothing more than a few small scraps of debris. Approaching the car, he shone the flashlight into its windows, hoping to spotlight whoever the idiot was who had managed to lock themselves inside.

He paused, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. There appeared to be a large, pale form pressed up against the driver’s side window. A thin film of moisture coated the window, but not as much as he would have expected for someone trapped in their car for any length of time. He swept the flashlight beam along the ground, but saw nothing more unusual than some old fluid stains in the immediate vicinity of the vehicle.

Holding the flashlight beam fixed on the shape in the window, he began to approach the car cautiously. As he got closer, he saw what looked to be a mass of tight sandy brown and gray curls pressed against the glass. He swallowed against a sudden hard lump, dismissing from his mind the images from a dozen old science fiction movies.

No way it’s alien parasites. . . . Or whatever.

Peering closer, he was more certain now it was the top of someone’s head, with their hair pressed against the window. From where he stood, he could not see their face. Reaching the door, he pointed his flashlight directly into the window. The layer of moisture on it prevented him from seeing clearly into the car’s interior. The light played across diffuse shapes, but revealed no details.

Jonathon looked down at the car door. The handle was a traditional one that lifted to unlock and open. That reassured him that he could probably manage to forcibly unlock it with the Slim Jim. He was not at all certain that he could have had it been one of the new expensive European models.

Still aiming the flashlight at the interior of the car, he tugged lightly on the handle. He stumbled back in surprise, nearly dropping his flashlight, when it lifted completely and the door began to open. It stopped, revealing about a three-inch gap. Jonathon took a deep breath and willed his heart to stop racing. It started to obey, and then stopped again an instant later as the door began to move again.

It seemed to happen in exaggerated slow motion. A large, formless shape pressed against door, forcing it slowly open. The mass seemed to almost ooze through the ever-widening gap, stopping just before it reached the concrete surface of the parking garage. Looking closer, Jonathon saw that it had apparently once been a person.

Its head hung downward from the bottom frame of the doorway. The graying sandy brown hair that he had seen pressed against the window now rested less than two inches above the ground. It neck arched forward, exposing the full length of its throat. The face, covered with streaks of clotting blood, was thick and bloated. Jonathon wondered for a moment whether it had always looked that way, or if whatever had caused her death had done that to her. From what he could tell, she looked to have been overweight for her size, probably pushing close to three hundred pounds.

More blood trailed from her nose. Dark splotches dotted her pleated white blouse. Her eyes, Jonathon realized, remained partially open. The whites were deeply tinted with crimson. That was unusual, he knew.

A stroke? he wondered. Some kind of aneurysm?

He had heard of both of those things, of course, but had never encountered a victim of either one.

Take a step closer, he stopped abruptly, catching a whiff of several unpleasant things. He managed, successfully, to neither cough nor gag, but it was a near thing. He knew, from things he had read, what involuntary reactions the human body had upon death. It was quite another thing to experience it first-hand.

Stepping back, he looked away. While trying not to breathe too deeply, he pulled the walkie-talkie from his belt and activated it.

“Trev,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “I think you’d better call this one in.”

#

“They’ll get here as soon as they can,” Trevor reported back. “So don’t touch anything.”

Jonathon fought the urge to roll his eyes, and then surrendered. It was not like Trevor could see him anyway.

Duh.

He glanced toward the periphery of the car, not wanting to look directly at the dead woman.

It’s not like I’m going to go anywhere near her, he retorted silently. Not without gloves.

He considered that condition for a moment.

Not even with gloves.

“The coroner can’t make it for at least two hours,” Trevor’s voice sounded again over the handset. “There’s some kind of huge smash-up on the Loop.”

Oh. Great.

He hoped that the police would make it there in a lot less time. The thought of having to stay near the body for another two hours made his stomach roil. He swallowed down the taste of bile and tried to think of something else—anything else—other than the fact that he stood just a few feet away from a dead body.

Belatedly, he realized that a small crowd of about a half dozen or so people had started to gather behind him. Putting on his best on-duty expression, he turned, raising his hands for their attention.

“I need to ask you to not remain here,” he told them, seeing their curious and uneasy expressions. “The police are on their way and they need us to keep the area clear.”

The small crowd began to break up, but not seemingly in any hurry to do so.

“Please,” he politely implored them, although he really wanted to allow his irritation to show. “I need you to clear the area.”

It took nearly five minutes, but finally he managed to get them to all enter the building. He called Trevor had told him to closed and deactivate the gate so no one else could enter until the police were done.

I should have thought of that before, he scolded himself, but then silently cut himself some slack. It’s not like I expected to find a body down here.

The police arrived about twenty minutes later. They brought only a single patrol car, which surprised Jonathon a little. He figured that an explained death would have brought a greater response.

Maybe they’re all at the accident on the Loop, he speculated, using his key to manually lift the gate that lead into the garage.

The police car pulled in, shining its headlights, and then mounted spotlight into the garage interior. It stopped just inside the entrance, blocking it from letting other cars enter, and two officers climbed out. Neither of them, Jonathon noted, seemed to move with much urgency.

Well, he considered. She’s already dead. It’s not like she’s going anywhere.

Jonathon recognized one of them: a young man with short, neatly-cut blond hair. He could not remember his name, other than he had seen him come to the complex before on other calls. His partner was an older man, maybe pushing his late forties. Both of them regarded with barely disguised disdain.

Jonathon recognized the look: the real cop looking down on the make-believe one. He fought back a surge of righteous anger, but still felt his face grow hot with suppressed resentment.

The older officer moved in close to the body, crouching so that he was less than a hand’s width away from it. He did not touch it, though. Still kneeling, he looked over the scene, quickly surveying the area around the car, as well as its shadowed interior. He murmured something to his partner that Jonathon could not hear.

The younger officer nodded and walked around the front of the car to the passenger side. He peered into the window from that side. Evidently finding nothing of immediate interest, he then looked both right and left, checking for what, Jonathon could not be certain.